


Strong Roots Go Deep

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Possession, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost a year after the X-Men defeated Apocalypse and everything seems at peace. But looks can be deceiving and nobody is prepared for the dark things that are growing beneath the surface ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles

Charles had a headache.

It wasn’t the first time either. He was beginning to wonder if he was doomed to constant headaches. Sometimes, they were only small, niggling things that he could ignore but the most common were sudden bursts of pain right behind his eyeballs that made him gasp. Gone in a flash but so painful when they came that they were impossible to hide.

He had told Hank, of course. Hank had fussed, done checks of his own and then taken him to a doctor but there was no sign of anything wrong. Charles was just having headaches.

“Stress?” Hank suggested and Charles supposed he could be right. The school had grown again and there had been so much to do after Apocalypse’s attack that Charles hadn’t had much time to take stock. Maybe he did just need to try and relax his mind a little.

Easier said than done, though. There was _always_ something to do when you ran a school for mutant children. And Charles found that he was worrying about his children more than he ever had before. He wanted to spend more time with them, see if they were learning the right things. There was so much to teaching, not just making sure children learned things but that they understood. That they were _strong_.

Strength was important, he had decided. Something he had neglected before but not something he would neglect again. You needed to be strong in this world, it was obvious, logical. If Jean hadn’t been strong, how could they have defeated Apocalypse?

There were different kinds of strength, of course. Mental strength was just as important as physical strength. But before, he’d always focused on the mind and now, he was wondering more about the physical. About their bodies, about what they might need to do in the future if the humans never accepted them. 

Of course, they _would_ accept them. Charles had always known they would. And yet he found himself with odd, lingering doubts lately. About a lot of things.

He found that he didn’t want to talk about these feelings to the others very much. He wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with them but … well, perhaps he shared things too easily. Perhaps some things ought to be kept in his own head, at least until the right time. Quite when that would be, he didn’t know but he would probably understand when it was.

After all, it made sense that he was changing things a little. He’d had a very shocking experience, they all had. Of course he was thinking differently about life, about his choices in life. Nothing to worry about there.

It would be nice if his headaches would fade entirely though.

They lessened a little as the days went by. Or perhaps Charles just got better at ignoring them when they came. He knew that they were still around but they seemed to matter a little less when he got on with things. When he talked to the students, when he fussed over them and reminded them how much he cared. It helped him focus.

He found other things were falling a little by the wayside though. His correspondences seemed much more tedious to him than it had in a while. Why did he write to so many people? Oh, they were clever enough scientists and people but he really ought to be focusing on other things. It just didn’t seem so important any more.

Moira kept calling him too and Charles found that this was strangely troubling. He’d been so excited about reconnecting with her at first, so pleased. They’d been talking about meeting up more, about introducing him to her son, perhaps even finally taking their relationship a little further … and suddenly, he seemed to have lost interest. He wasn’t sure why. Was it because Moira was suddenly available when before, she had been “the one that got away”? That did make sense but he wasn’t really sure what it said about him as a person. Probably nothing very nice.

He’d always known that he wasn’t necessarily a very nice person. 

Perhaps that was why it didn’t actually worry him very much.

“I think Jean and Scott are getting together, you know,” Raven said to him one afternoon, looking out of a window. Charles looked too and saw that Jean and Scott were standing very close together under one of the trees. As they watched, Jean suddenly leaned over and kissed Scott gently on the lips. Even from where they were, Charles could see Scott flushing, feel his happiness.

“It’s adorable,” Raven said, sounding amused.

“Hm,” Charles said doubtfully. “Do you think they’re a good match?”

“I think it doesn’t matter if I think so or not, they’ll do what they want,” Raven said. “Why wouldn’t they be though? They’re good friends, they work well together, they’re both sensible … ”

“Will they produce powerful children, do you think?”

“Will they _what?_ ”

Raven looked at him as if he’d gone mad, her mind rippling with shock. Charles looked at her, puzzled. Surely it was a very reasonable question? They needed to think about such things to improve their race …

He blinked at his own thought, suddenly as appalled as Raven. His head throbbed and he winced, rubbing his temples. His mind briefly seemed to swirl uncontrollably, conflicting thoughts everywhere, hurting …

“Charles, are you all right?”

“Of course,” he murmured, realising that Raven needed reassuring. “Just a headache, sorry. Don’t know where my mind went then!”

“Somewhere weird and creepy,” Raven said, relaxing at his smile. “Honestly Charles, you sounded like you wanted to _breed_ them!”

Charles laughed. It was obscene … and yet strangely compelling. Just as a hypothetical, purely as a hypothetical but … if you did select mutants and check their genes, you could make strong mutant children. Perhaps even design them, combine their talents … of course, he never _would_ , never, ever …

His headache had eased a little. He went for some painkillers anyway, smiling at Jean and Scott as they walked in, holding hands. Scott smiled happily back but Jean gave him an odd look. Charles watched her go. Jean was very powerful, almost too powerful for her own good.

He shivered, suddenly cold. What was _wrong_ with him today? He needed to relax more. He was clearly overworked, clearly letting things get to him. An early night, that was what he needed. 

He actually managed it, falling asleep quickly. He dreamed that he was walking in a dark corridor. At first, the dark was unnerving but gradually, he began to find it warm, soothing. It wrapped around him, almost like arms, comforting him. When he relaxed into it, it slipped into him, filling his eyes, his ears, leaving him warm and sleepy, even in his own dream. It was easy to accept the darkness, easy to relax and embrace it …

He had an idea he’d had the dream before although he wasn’t sure when or what it meant. Only that he always felt somehow better after having it. Certainly, he was more relaxed than he had been, healthier, more confident.

He found himself itching to use Cerebro, although he didn’t really know why. He just wanted to feel the great connection to all those minds out there, see what they were doing, find others of his kind and make sure they were all right. He resisted the urge to rush through the class he had to teach – after all, that was just as important, looking after the minds of those they already had – but the moment he was done, he went down to Cerebro and plugged himself in.

Oh, it was … _wonderful_. He had somehow come to take it for granted, this ability to soar through the minds of the world. He moved to the mutants, peered at them, delighted with his own skill. Some of them were only weak but others had power that glittered when he dipped inside their heads. All this beauty. His people, out there, just waiting to be found, to be unified …

“Charles?”

Hank was behind him, his mind a little confused. Charles supposed he didn’t usually come down here alone for no reason. 

“Hello Hank. Don’t worry, I’m just … stretching myself. Giving myself a class.”

Hank laughed and moved to his side. Charles smiled at him. Dear Hank. He worried and fretted but he was strong and loyal, always at Charles’s side. Charles was glad to have him. Hank made him feel safe … and was a good friend. Of course.

“You shouldn’t come down alone too much,” Hank said. “If something went wrong …” 

“I’m a telepath. I’d shout for you,” Charles said easily. “You worry so much, Hank.”

“I can’t help it,” Hank said with a small smile. “Trouble happens around you far too often.”

Charles laughed and hopped into another mind, refocusing his attentions to children. There would be more and more mutant children, more and more of their kind. They should probably begin to expand their reach, start taking on younger ones. With Hank’s skills, they could easily identify the X-gene right from babyhood. Perhaps they should be raising the children themselves …

One thing at a time. That was in the future, right now he needed to focus on older ones.

“Do we really need any new students?” Hank asked. “We’re pretty full you know.”

“I know. But there’s always room for one more, isn’t there?”

“Will it stick as just one?” Hank said, sounding amused.

“It might,” Charles said. “Ah, here … this young lady … note the coordinates, Hank?”

“Done,” Hank said after a moment. “Hm, not too far, we can probably take one of the cars. I’ll tell Raven that we’re heading out on a road trip.”

Charles was a little reluctant to leave Cerebro. It was ridiculous, he knew that but it was so … beautiful. All of those minds … if he only had a little more raw power …

Perhaps they could make some sort of more portable version. Some sort of power boosting machine so he could do this more easily. All those minds he could reach then, it would be quite, quite magnificent.

Hank might not like it though. He would have to approach the topic delicately at some point.

Raven just looked amused when they told her they were going to fetch another student. She was very strong too, stubborn in a way that Hank was not. It was odd, Charles found he was more impressed by her than ever before. She’d gone to find who she was, fought to find out that information. She’d stumbled along the way, perhaps but she was clearly worthy of being at his side.

His temples thumped and he rubbed them with a small sigh. Not that you had to be worthy to be with him. Obviously. Maybe he would ask Hank to stay quiet and try to sleep on the journey. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

_Nothing is wrong with me. I’m just seeing things differently, that’s all …_

He wasn’t quite sure where the thought had come from. He wasn’t quite sure about anything. But it did seem right …

Hank made worried noises when he saw that Charles was planning on dozing. He obviously thought that Charles was sick and kept wondering if perhaps Charles ought to stay at home. Charles found it so irritating that he found himself pondering the merits of simply _telling_ Hank that he was fine with a push of power to make Hank believe it. It would be wrong, of course, that wasn’t what his powers were for … and yet as they drove, he couldn’t help thinking that it would have saved time. Hank had come round to Charles’s way of thinking as he obviously would … would it really have been so wrong to simply ensure it happened a little quicker?

Right then, it didn’t seem like it would be.

The house of the mutant child was quite far out and by the time they reached it, Hank was as tired as Charles had been earlier. It was one of the awkward things about this – sometimes there simply weren’t convenient places to stop and recharge. 

And then you had to deal with the parents.

Charles tried not to show his irritation with the two humans standing before him, united in being ridiculous. They clearly knew that their daughter was different, that she was talented and skilled in a way that they couldn’t cope with – and yet they still wouldn’t allow her to come away with people who could _help_ her, guide her, teach her …

And their arguments were so _stupid_. She’s _our_ daughter, we’ll look after her, we love her, she belongs to _us_ … pathetic. Charles found his lip curling as they continued to speak. These people knew nothing. They _were_ nothing.

It happened before he even realised it. His fingers flicked, his mind stretched out.

_You will give us your daughter. You will send her with us willingly and happily knowing you have done the right thing for her. Now do it._

Their faces relaxed, they smiled eager, warm smiles as they fell over themselves to obey him. Charles smiled back, allowing his approval to ripple in their minds. Why not? It would make them feel better. They had done the right thing, they should know that. 

Hank was looking at him though and Charles could feel his anxiety, his shock. His thoughts bubbled with fear and confusion. Charles blocked it out. They would talk about it later.

The child was a little nervous at being sent away but excited too. She was obviously surprised that her parents had let them take her – which only added to Hank’s unhappiness. Charles smiled sweetly at the child, helped her pack her belongings and promised her that she would love his school and be the happiest she had ever been. Because it was true, of course. All of it.

With a child in the car, there was no time for them to talk. Charles _could_ have spoken to Hank mentally, of course, but he didn’t want to distract the man while he drove. Hank would react better to the spoken word anyway. It would make him feel better than Charles’s mind would, at least right now.

They stopped to eat and Hank sent their new student to choose what she wanted before turning to Charles and staring at him as though he’d never seen him before.

“Charles, you … you used your powers, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Charles said gently. “I had to, Hank. They wouldn’t have let her come if I hadn’t.”

“But Charles, we _agreed_ , we said you’d never do that, that it would always be their choice! Why did you do that?!”

Hank sounded horrified. Charles reached out and gently touched his arm.

“She needed to get away from them, Hank. She was going to be stifled, destroyed. Now she will grow and blossom.”

“But it’s _wrong_.”

“Is it wrong?” Charles asked. “Really wrong? She wanted to get away, Hank. She wanted to be free. Her parents will still talk to her, love her, they can come whenever they want. She’s just in a better place to learn to be herself. I wouldn’t do it every time. Just this time.”

Hank stared at him, expression bewildered now. His mind was spiky with concern and confusion. He couldn’t decide if Charles was being reasonable or crazy. If Charles had a point or had done something deeply wrong.

“I just … don’t like it,” Hank said at last. “I don’t like it, Charles. We said we wouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, running his hand gently over Hank’s wrist. He knew Hank liked to be touched, knew it made him feel connected and safe. “It was the right thing to do, Hank. I promise.”

Hank shivered and Charles knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. He also knew that it would be so easy to reach into Hank’s mind, change it for him. Hank would come to agree with him in time – why not make him agree now? Why not simply make everything easier?

Hank was his friend. Hank deserved to have his own mind, his own thoughts.

But it would be easy. Simple. Hank would be happy …

 _Hank, I think there’s something wrong with me. Hank, I’m frightened. Hank, help me_.

But the words died unspoken in his throat and as their new student bounced back to them, chatting happily, her mind filled with joy and excitement, Charles found himself forgetting them entirely.

Everything was absolutely fine.

His head wasn’t even hurting any more.


	2. Hank

Hank was unhappy.

He didn’t know why he was unhappy. On the surface, everything seemed absolutely fine – better than fine, really. The school was thriving. The children and adults were happy. Charles was happy. By rights, Hank should have been happy. He _wanted_ to be happy. 

And yet sometimes when he looked around, he felt a creeping sort of doubt. Usually when he looked at Charles.

Outwardly, Charles was content. He talked to and taught and trained the students. He laughed with the other teachers, offering his services when required. Nothing was different.

So why did it _feel_ different? Why was it that sometimes, Hank looked at Charles and almost thought that there was someone else looking back at him?

It was crazy. Of course it was Charles, who else could it be? And yet Hank couldn’t shake the feelings off. He kept thinking about things Charles had done recently. Little things, oddly chosen words, gestures, smiles that seemed just a bit … off. And most of all, he replayed the day that they had fetched little Daisy and Charles had manipulated her parents.

It was against everything they’d ever said they would do. Against every moral that Charles had. Although it _wasn’t_ because Charles _had_ done it before, hadn’t he? Just not that way, not to the parents of the children but he’d used his powers on people … was it really so different? And Daisy was flourishing, happy, learning about her power and making friends, she was blossoming with them so Charles’s decision …

No. It was _wrong_. It was just _wrong_. And Charles had once agreed with that.

He hadn’t mentioned it to Charles again. There was no point. Charles had been patient, gentle, reassuring – but firm. There had been steel there, a certainty that Hank knew he couldn’t shake. And he had often seen Charles like that, Charles was always confident in himself … so why did it feel so wrong now? Why did everything trouble Hank so much?

Perhaps it was _him_ who was sick. Perhaps he was paranoid, seeing things that weren’t there. Taking tiny, ridiculous things out of context and building them into a ludicrous conspiracy that everyone else would laugh at. And no matter what had changed, how far Hank had come in his life, he balked at being laughed at. Hated the idea of people mocking him.

Some things were hard to change.

But one day, as he watched Charles teaching, watched his hands move in that odd new way of his, listening to his words that somehow just didn’t seem quite right and knew he _had_ to speak. Had to be brave and fight the fear. If Charles was sick, they needed to know. Charles had always relied on Hank to help him and Hank couldn’t, _couldn’t_ let him down.

He went to Raven that night, found her setting up the Danger Room for the next day. She smiled at him and Hank felt cold.

“What’s up?” Raven asked him.

“I … I don’t … Raven, do you … do you think Charles is okay?”

Her smile faded very slightly and she stared at him. Hank tried not to fidget like a child.

“In what way?” Raven asked at last.

“I don’t … okay, maybe this is crazy but he doesn’t always seem like himself right now. I mean, he does but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes I just feel like something is wrong.”

He waited for Raven to laugh at him, to tease him. Instead, she stopped what she was doing and she looked at him. Hank still found it difficult to read her expressions sometimes when she was in her natural form. Was she thinking he was wasting his time? Judging him for his silliness?

“I know it sounds stupid,” he said quickly. “I know – ”

“No,” Raven interrupted. “Hank, you’ve been with Charles longer than anybody else, even me. If you think there is something wrong then I’m not going to take that lightly.”

Hank felt a wave of relief. Raven didn’t think he was crazy. She didn’t think he was crazy!

Then the relief was replaced by ice. If he _wasn’t_ crazy then what did that say about Charles?

“Tell me everything,” Raven said quietly and so Hank did, starting with the small oddities and ending with the story about Daisy. Raven’s frown deepened as he spoke.

“What was his reasoning?” she asked.

“He just said that it was better, that she needed to be with us. He didn’t say why, just … that was it and I don’t … it just didn’t _feel_ like Charles. Charles never did anything like that before.”

“And normally explains if he does,” Raven said. She was pacing the room now. “When I first came back here, Charles was talking about expanding the school, turning it into a university for mutants and humans. I asked him about it recently and he seemed … I don’t know. Like it didn’t interest him any more. He said it was more important to focus on the mutants and that seemed logical but … it’s not what he said before. And he was talking about other plans but wouldn’t say what they were. I thought he was still thinking things out but … and he’s stopped talking to Moira. She wrote to me asking if he was all right because she hadn’t heard from him in a while. I assumed he was just busy. Hank, what do you think has happened?”

“I don’t know. If I had any idea, I’d have said something before. I just know he doesn’t seem like Charles. Sometimes when he looks at me, I feel like it’s someone else and it makes me feel cold.”

“Well then,” Raven said. “We should talk to Jean.”

“I don’t know if Charles would like that,” Hank said. “Last time I asked if he was okay, he got a bit angry, said that he was tired of being prodded at. He might feel like we’re invading his privacy.”

“So what?” Raven said. “You’re worried about him. I’m worried about him. Let’s see if Jean’s worried about him too. If Charles _is_ okay, he’ll understand. If he’s not … ”

She let her voice trail off and Hank shivered. He’d spent so much time convincing himself that he was crazy … what if he _wasn’t_ crazy? If Charles was sick, what would they do? How would they cope?

They went to find Jean and found her with Scott in one of the communal rooms, doing homework. Jean looked up as they approached and her expression became guarded.

“It’s about the Professor, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Raven said. “Can you tell us anything?”

“No,” Jean said sadly. “I wish I could but he’s shielded from me. He always has been but now, he won’t open himself at all. I asked him to help me practise my powers and he wouldn’t. He said he didn’t have the time right then but he … never has the time.”

Scott squeezed her hand. Obviously, Jean had talked about this to him about this before. Hank felt a stab of guilt. Why hadn’t Jean come to him about this?

Jean smiled a little, obviously sensing the pattern of his thoughts.

“I thought I was being silly,” she said. “He’s … he’s still the Professor, isn’t he? I thought maybe he _didn’t_ have time for me any more. There’s all these new students and after Cairo, my powers have been far more controlled. Perhaps he just believes in me more than I believe in myself. Perhaps he just knows that I don’t need him any more.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Raven said quietly. “I think that Charles _has_ changed and we’ve all be thinking that we’re the ones who are wrong. We should have listened to our instincts more. Hank, did you ever get to the bottom of those headaches he was having?”

“No, never. He said they stopped, that he was fine and I guess I believed him.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Scott broke in. “Are we saying the Professor’s sick? Or something else?”

Hank looked at Raven and she looked back at him with her glowing yellow eyes. A lot of people said they were inscrutable but Hank didn’t find them so. He knew what Raven was thinking. That something, somewhere was terribly wrong and if they didn’t get to the bottom of it, well …

“I don’t know what we’re saying,” Raven said quietly. “But whatever it is, we’re going to find out.”

“He might agree to letting me take a look at him,” Hank said slowly. “He always has before, I’ve been his doctor since … well, the sixties, I suppose! If I put it right, ask if I can just do a scan of his brain. I mean, personality change can be because of sickness, maybe he’s got some sort of … problem.”

He couldn’t bring himself to fill in the options. None of them were really good, after all. But at least they would _know_.

“He might not like it,” Raven said. “And he’ll read your mind.”

“I’m good at blocking Charles out,” Hank said. “Not if he really, really wanted to break in, obviously but he knows when I want privacy and I know the things to do to misdirect.”

“ _If_ he lets you,” Jean said quietly.

None of them spoke for a moment. Hank bit his lip. Somehow, it was easy to forget just how dangerous Charles was because Charles _wasn’t_ dangerous. The knowledge that he _could_ tear through Hank’s defences like they were paper was faintly horrifying to consider.

“Jean can shield you,” Scott said.

“He’ll know though,” Raven said. “And that might make him angry. I think asking him normally probably is the best way. Jean can be close by to shield Hank if she thinks it necessary – can you keep him out, Jean?”

“Yes,” Jean said immediately. “Maybe only for a while but I _can_.”

“I’m sure it won’t be necessary,” Hank said. “Charles would never do that.”

He found that he still believed it, despite the odd things that had happened. Charles was a good person, he had always been a good person and he was Hank’s _friend_. They had been through so much together and come out alive. They had been there for each other for so long that Hank almost couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t turn and find Charles at his side. 

Charles was sick. He was sure of that. But Hank was also sure that they could help him. That Charles would be all right. They were working together now and things were going to be just fine.

After they had agreed where to meet in the morning, they separated. Hank headed to his lab. He had a class to set up for – and besides, he always thought best in the lab. It was a place that never failed to comfort him, however uneasy he was feeling about something.

“Hello Hank.”

He jerked backwards, staring in shock. Charles was sitting in the dark laboratory, smiling at him. Hank fumbled for the light, turning it on.

“Charles, what are you doing in here?!”

“Waiting for you, my friend. Come in. Close the door.”

Hank found that he didn’t want to. His stomach felt cold. Automatically, he began blocking, misdirecting in his mind, focusing very, very hard on the formulas for various chemical creations. Slowly, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, resisting the urge to press back against it as he did. Charles was still smiling but the smile was wrong. It was all wrong.

“W-why are you waiting for me?”

“I knew you wanted me. You see, my mind is so attuned to yours that I know when you’re thinking of me. An advantage of twenty-one years in your company. I realised you were thinking of me a lot tonight. Something seemed wrong. What’s wrong, Hank? You can tell me.”

Hank swallowed. He hadn’t wanted to do it like this but it seemed like there wasn’t any choice. 

“Charles … I’ve been worrying about you. You haven’t seemed … quite yourself for a while and I’m just … would you let me give you a check-up? I just want to make sure that you’re healthy.”

“But I am healthy, Hank. I’m perfectly well.”

“Could you just let me check that? Please? Nothing invasive, just a standard check.”

Charles was still smiling that smile. Hank wished that he would stop. This wasn’t right. None of this was right at all.

“Charles, I’m worried about you. Please …” 

“And who else were you discussing it with, Hank?”

Hank didn’t say anything. Charles’s eyes narrowed, very slightly although the smile didn’t fade.

“I see. Ah well. Everything’s quite fine, Hank. You’ll see.”

“Charles, please – ”

He stopped speaking. Charles’s blue eyes had caught his and Hank found that he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Charles’s eyes were so blue, unbearably blue and he was being pulled into them, irresistibly caught, only they weren’t blue any more, they were turning a horrifying black …

_No! Please! Charles!_

“Shhhhh,” Charles murmured. “Everything’s fine, Hank. Everything is absolutely fine.”

And it was.

Of course it was.

What had Hank been thinking to even suspect that it wasn’t?

He stumbled forward, knelt at Charles’s feet, utterly ashamed of himself. How could he possibly have ever doubted Charles? Charles was perfect, he had always been perfect and Hank had been so wrong.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry …” 

“It is fine, darling. You are forgiven. Everybody has doubts sometimes. Now, who were you talking to about this, hm?”

Hank couldn’t remember why he’d ever wanted to block Charles from his mind, why’d he’d ever wanted Charles not to know. It was ridiculous, insane. Of _course_ Charles should know what they were doing.

“Raven, Jean and Scott, sir.”

“Ah yes, Jean. She is a problem, my Hank.”

Yes, she was. Strange that he hadn’t realised that before either. Charles stroked his hair kindly and Hank smiled. Charles understood things in a way that he didn’t, but that was all right. He could still be useful to Charles.

“Of course you can,” Charles murmured, taking the thought from Hank’s mind easily and responding to it as though Hank had spoken aloud. “You have many talents, Hank. Talents that I do not. And you’ve always been at my side. You’ll stay there, won’t you? You’ll be my most loyal companion, my defence against those who would hurt me?”

“Always,” Hank said blissfully. He couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than being at Charles’s side for his whole life. Charles was perfect, beautiful. There could be nothing better than being his servant.

“Now then,” Charles said. “Raven and Scott will be easy to explain things too but Jean … I think we will have to explain to things to her in a different way. You’ll have to help me subdue her until she understands – but you will, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Hank said, understanding utterly. “I can make you up a batch of the old serum to use on her, it won’t take very much alteration to work. I should be able to get some made within two hours.”

Charles didn’t speak but his approval washed over Hank’s mind like a wave. Hank shivered with pleasure. He wanted more of that. He wanted to make Charles proud every moment of the day. It was the only thing that mattered.

Charles kissed his forehead gently and then gestured. Obediently, Hank stood and began to work on a new batch of serum. He knew Charles would be shielding him to make sure that Jean didn’t read his mind. Jean would be able to pick up those shields if she looked, of course, but it was unlikely that she would be looking right now. She didn’t know that she should be. Silly girl. How could she not understand that Charles knew best?

An hour and a half later, the serum batch was competed. Hank put another one on – they might need a lot – and carefully put it in syringes. Charles smiled warmly at him.

“You know what I need before I tell you. You have always been reliable, Hank. Now then, let’s go and find Scott.”

“Scott?” Hank said before the understanding came to me and he smiled. “Oh. Of course.”

Scott was in bed and jumped when they came into his room.

“What’s wrong? Professor? Doctor McCoy?”

“Everything is fine,” Charles said reassuringly. He reached out and touched Scott’s cheek gently. “I need your help, Scott.”

Hank saw Scott’s shoulders tense for a second, then relax as Charles helped him understand everything with a touch from his mind. Scott smiled and nodded his head, getting out of bed.

“Hank, you may need to take a little pain. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Of _course_ he could. He could do anything for Charles, anything at all, he was _happy_ to suffer in Charles’s stead. He smiled and nodded his head and felt Charles’s approval ripple inside him. 

“Go, my children. Sort this for me and then we will begin anew. Everything will be well.”

Jean was not in her room. Hank wasn’t worried. He transformed himself into his other form – his _real_ form, stupid not to always be in it really, Charles much preferred this, he could tell that now – and sniffed the air, following her trail. Scott walked with him, Charles in both their minds, watching, guiding. He didn’t need to be physically with them to be with them.

Jean’s trail led down to Hank’s hanger. He gestured for Scott to go a different direction, then opened the door himself. Jean’s head snapped up from the computer console that she was bending over. Her hair was loose and wild and she was only wearing a nightdress. She had clearly come down here in a hurry.

“Doctor McCoy. Doctor McCoy, please, he’s in your head! You don’t want to hurt me!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Hank said gently. “Not at all. Charles doesn’t want that. How could you think he would want that?”

“That’s _not_ Charles! Please, Doctor McCoy, you know this is wrong! You know it’s wrong!”

Her hair was forming a nimbus around her as her power built up. Things around them were trembling and Hank winced as he heard some delicate apparatus breaking.

“You’re damaging my things, Jean. Stop it.”

He had to duck when a beaker hurtled at him, then dodge a chair. Jean was moving away from him, her arms lifted up, her eyes narrowed. She was strong but he was fast and powerful and he leaped forwards.

“Doctor McCoy, he is not the man you love, not the man _we_ love! _Please!_ ”

Her hair looked as though it was on fire and she reached towards him with flickering hands and for a second, all Hank could do was look at them, all he could do was feel a strange sense that there was something terribly, terribly wrong …

Then red beams flashed between them and Scott was there. Jean turned to face him and cried out something but Scott fired again and she threw up her hands, deflecting the beams – and Hank was there and forcing the syringe into her neck.

Jean screamed and as she did, metal and wood buckled and the building trembled. Then Charles was there, hand held out and Jean went silent and limp in Hank’s arms, her powers silenced.

“Beautifully done, my children,” Charles said softly.

“Can you help her understand?” Scott asked, looking anxious.

“I can, Scott. But not the way I helped you. If I enter her mind and her powers return, they will simply burn me out. I will need to convince her.”

“She’s dangerous,” Hank said angrily. Jean had _hurt_ him and his instincts were screaming. “I should kill her now.”

“Now, Hank,” Charles said reprovingly. “Jean is far, far too valuable to be killed. Her powers are exquisite. I am sure that with a little persuasion, she can be brought around to our way of thinking. And if not, well, there is plenty of time to kill her then.”

He smiled and Hank smiled happily back, feeling soothed and forgiven.

“Where shall I put her?”

“One of the cellars, I think. We shall have to keep her dosed, make sure that her powers don’t break free. And then we shall have to fix everything she has broken. That is unfortunate, it will set us back … but there is plenty of time. Soon, the world will know us as we should be known.”

His voice was glorious, powerful. Hank closed his eyes, basking in it, revelling in his master’s glory.

Anything Charles wanted was all right with him.


	3. Erik

Erik stood at the edge of the mansion grounds and watched the movements within, wondering what each inhabitant was doing, what they were thinking as they prepared for bed.

He had been in Wales, trying to track down a group of mutants that he had heard about when he’d heard the scream. Although _heard_ was the wrong term for it. It was more than hearing. It had been _experience_ , like a bomb of words going off inside his head.

_**ERIK HELP US STOP HIM HELP US!** _

He’d collapsed to the ground, unable to stand. The words had come with a swirl of images and ideas; Charles, there was something wrong with Charles and he had taken Hank and Scott and Jean, Jean was in danger – 

And then her presence was gone from his mind, almost as though a door had slammed shut and it had not returned since – and that had been almost two weeks ago.

Erik supposed that she had to be dead. He was surprised at how much it hurt, despite the fact that he had not known the girl for long. She had been strong and brave and willing to speak to him when the others around her had been wary. She had also been willing to stay with him, even when his grief had been agonising – and later, he had realised that it had to have been hurting her too because she was a telepath, as powerful as Charles was.

Had Charles killed her? The thought was an anathema. How could Charles, _Charles_ have done something like that? Jean was his student, he had clearly thought the world of her, perhaps more than some of his other students because she knew what it was to feel what everybody felt.

But then, her message had been clear. There was something wrong with Charles and she believed that Erik was capable of stopping him. So Erik knew he had to try.

The protective helmet was back on his head for the first time in a while. Charles had no way of finding him, no way of knowing that he was here. But if Jean’s cry had been correct, Charles was likely in the mind of every student in this place and every single one of them had powers that could cause him very serious problems. And Erik didn’t want to hurt them, that was another problem. He needed to slip into the place without being seen, keep himself as secret as possible to delay any fight that might come.

Luckily, he had always been good at slipping into places unnoticed and he had not forgotten the tricks of it. Night was the best time – and later into the night was better. Between two and three o’clock in the morning was usually when people were at their most confused and so he intended to come in then. He settled himself quietly down, well out of sight and allowed himself to doze, knowing that he would need his energy. 

At half past two, he got to his feet again and began moving towards the school. There were no lights on but Erik assumed nothing. He used his powers to keep himself off the ground, to go in from above rather than from where he was more likely to be seen. 

He eased his way in through one of the attic windows and drifted down the stairs. Everywhere was quiet, peaceful – but Erik could see signs of change, change that looked wrong to his eyes. He had stayed in Charles’s school for two months and the place had been homely, even while under construction. Charles had encouraged the children to make it their home, to make the place feel comfortable to them and they had done so. A lot of those touches seemed to have disappeared now. It was … colder, more impersonal. Like a military base. Not like Charles, not like Charles at all.

He reached out to find all the metal around him, hoping to identify where Hank was. There was a strong possibility that Hank was sleeping in the same room that he always had but Erik didn’t want to just rely on that. He wanted to be _certain_.

Yes, there was Hank’s room. Of course, it was impossible to tell if Hank was currently in it but it didn’t feel like anybody else was and the metal matched things that Erik would expect Hank to have. Quietly, he glided through the school and opened the door silently. 

Hank lay in the bed in his Beast-form. He stirred a little as the door opened and Erik guessed that he wouldn’t have very much time before Hank woke up. Still levitating, he slid into the room. He knew that what he was about to do was risky but he was confident that Charles was sleeping. And this was the only way.

Hank did not have a metal bedstead, something that Erik found faintly amusing. He didn’t know if it was a deliberate choice or not but he suspected the former. Hank did not entirely trust him, probably never would. However, a scientist like Hank couldn’t live without metal and there was plenty in the room for Erik to reshape to suit his purposes.

First, he curled metal right over Hank’s wrists, preparing to pin him in place. Then he removed the protective helmet and slammed it straight over Hank’s head.

Hank jerked awake with a snarl, trying to lash out but the metal clamped down instantly, holding him still as Erik made sure the helmet was secure. 

“Hank, it’s me!” he hissed.

Hank looked at him, obvious confusion on his face. Then slowly, confusion faded into utter horror and Erik knew that all his fears had been correct.

“Don’t fall apart, Hank. We have no time and we have to incapacitate Charles _now_.”

Hank swallowed and nodded his head. He was trembling slightly and Erik wondered what he was thinking. The idea of being controlled, having your actions utterly dictated … it made him feel slightly sick.

“The serum I’ve been using on Jean will work on Charles,” Hank said. “Can you get it to him?”

“Jean? Jean’s still alive?”

Hank didn’t look as though what he’d said was anything to be happy about. He nodded slightly.

“She’s in the basement, drugged. Erik, the serum is in my lab and it’s ready. You need to inject me with my own serum before you let me loose – that way, you’ll be quicker and stronger than me and you need that. I can warn you if Charles wakes up but then you’ll have to knock me out, I’ll attack you – I won’t be able to stop myself. There’s some in the drawer – I would have thrown it out but Charles didn’t think of it.”

His voice shook as he spoke. Erik reached for the syringe, looking at him as he did.

“Charles didn’t think of it?”

“He was in my head, Erik. It was all … I didn’t see any reason to do anything that didn’t interest him. There were times when he’d leave me alone and I’d just … stand there until he came back or gave me another order. And I was so _happy_ to obey him, so _pleased_ when I’d done something right, it … I almost hate that I can’t feel it right now.”

Erik had injected him and as Hank spoke, his form faded to human. He was trembling slightly.

“Okay. Take the helmet off me and put it on yourself. If Charles wakes up, I should be able to warn you but it’ll only be brief. Then I’ll be his again and I’ll try and stop you. And he’ll know what you’re going to do too because he’ll read it in my mind. So don’t tell me anything else.”

“I’m going to stop him,” Erik said quietly. He released the metal around Hank’s wrists and quickly fitted the helmet back on his head. Hank scrambled out of bed quickly and without exchanging any more words, they hurried down to Hank’s laboratory.

It was completely different from Erik’s last visit. Hank had always been organised, everything neatly arranged – but now it was regimented. Other people had obviously been working in there and it didn’t take more than a cursorary glance to show that they were making weapons. Not clumsy human attempts but things more suited to mutant hands.

“Oh,” he said and Hank made a small sound that could have been a laugh.

“He’s not Charles. He can’t be, Charles would never want this, I don’t … I don’t understand what’s happened.”

He sounded wretched. Erik wondered what Charles had made him do. He decided not to ask and just watched as Hank began filling syringes with yellowish liquid. His hands were steady, despite the obvious distress he was in. Erik had had his differences with Hank in the past but he had to admit, he’d grown into a man who was good in a crisis.

“You need to incapacitate everyone if he wakes up, Erik. Every student is under his thrall and they’ll all attack you and they might aim to kill. They – _he’s awake!_ ”

Erik acted smoothly. He slammed his hand into Hank’s neck, reaching out with his powers as he did, grabbing every piece of metal in every mattress in the school and bringing it to life to squirm through cloth and seize hold of every waking person, capturing them in place. Even as he did that, he was running towards Charles’s room, fully aware that he wouldn’t be able to hold most of them for long. He could already feel the metal being twisted, bent, melted away from various students and he knew that there was only so much that he could do to prevent it.

There was a flicker of dark smoke in front of him and Erik dropped the ground and rolled smoothly under it, leaping to his feet again to strike Kurt in the back of the head. He’d practised the move quite often with Azazel, although rarely managed the perfect blow – Azazel was older and more experienced after all. Even with Kurt, it was harder than he would have liked and Kurt’s tail cut its way jaggedly across his wrist. Erik ignored the pain. He ran on, ignoring the way the building was beginning to shake, the howling of wind. He was lucky that Storm couldn’t actually use her powers to break out of the bed-cage he’d made for her without killing herself. She was a serious threat.

Charles’s bedroom door was open and he was sitting there, waiting. He looked peaceful, even smiling.

“Hello, Erik. This isn’t necessary, you know.”

Erik wasn’t sure how he knew. Perhaps it was because he’d spent so much time with both of them. Perhaps it was just simply because it was what he would have done in their place. But he knew.

“Nice try, Mystique,” he said and then dodged as she sprang at him, switching to her blue form. She was powerful, she was skilled and she knew what she was doing – but so did he. He would hurt her if he had to, he wouldn’t back down. This was too important for that. She went for his helmet, as he knew she would and he reached out for the metal in the walls, pulling it to try and catch her.

“Why are you doing this, Erik?” Mystique was speaking but he knew they were not her words. “This can’t be what you want.”

“I just want to talk to you, Charles. You attacked me first.”

“That’s not really true, is it? You tried to take my Beast from me, asked him for help. I don’t like that, Erik. I don’t like to be betrayed.”

“I’m not betraying you. You have your own sister attacking me while you attempt to escape. You don’t consider that a betrayal? Or have you forgotten your promise never to go inside her head?”

“We were children then,” Charles-Mystique said. The voice was so calm but her attacks were vicious. She knew how to avoid Erik, they had fought together often.

“I doubt she changed her mind. You changed it for her. Why, Charles? Why not let them decide for themselves?”

“I do.”

“That’s not what Hank said.”

He was letting himself get distracted by this conversation. This time, when Mystique kicked for his face, he let the blow land and let himself fall backwards, reaching out for all the metal in the room as he did. The metal was sparking with conducted electricity, probably from Storm and it was not hard to make a circuit. He had to suppress a burst of guilt as he shocked Mystique with it – if they were unlucky, this might kill her and he didn’t want that. She was his friend and she was not in control of herself – but Charles _had_ to be stopped. She screamed and crumpled and Erik ran, reaching out again to find where Charles was.

At least they hadn’t had the time to make a non-metallic wheelchair. Which was probably also why Storm had not been allowed to go flat-out and simply electrocute every bit of metal in the place. 

Charles – the _real_ Charles – was almost inside Cerebro. He turned and looked at Erik and for a moment, Erik thought he saw something there, something alien staring from behind Charles’s face.

“Why are you doing this, Erik?” Charles’s voice was soft. “Don’t you understand? This is for all of us. For your people. We can protect them the way you’ve always wanted. _Isn’t_ this what you’ve always wanted? To fight the humans that would kill us all? I’m preparing for that.”

“You stole their minds, Charles. You made them your puppets.”

“It wasn’t like that. I gave them support. I helped them see our vision, that was all.”

“ _Your_ vision, Charles. Not mine. I never wanted this. Where is Jean?”

“Quite safe. She simply isn’t well right now, that’s all.”

“An excellent euphemism,” Erik said coldly. “If you mean locked up and imprisoned. Are you trying to brainwash her, Charles? You can’t control her mind so you mean to break it?”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles said and he sounded sad. “I thought you would understand. I thought you and I would work together, the way I always wanted, the way _you_ always wanted. We can build a better world for everybody now. I know you want that. I know you’ve always wanted that. Now we can be together, the two of us, guiding and teaching mutants to make a perfect world for them. You were right, you were always right. We _are_ the superior race and this is our time.”

The words were … seductive. Yes, Erik had always wanted that. He had always wanted to be with Charles, working with him. It had almost broken his heart on that damn beach when Charles had quietly told him that they didn’t want the same things. They were _supposed_ to want the same things. They were _supposed_ to be together. And to hear Charles saying everything, to hear him agreeing with Erik … he hadn’t realised just how much he still wanted that. After all this time, all these years and he still longed for that world.

“Erik,” Charles murmured. “Please trust me, my friend.”

The metal still smelt of electricity. He thought of Hank’s wretched expression. He thought of Mystique’s crumpled body. He thought of Jean’s wild scream.

“I trust you as much as I always have done, Charles,” he said and threw the syringes forward.

Charles was able to block the first one. But the second hit home and Erik pressed the metal plunger down hard.

Charles screamed; a scream of pure apoplectic fury. For a horrifying moment, Erik felt the air in the mansion pressing on him, knew Charles was ordering Storm to just kill him, knew too that there was nothing else he could do – 

And then it stopped. And Charles gave a moan and Erik stepped forward and punched him right in the face. It was petty, perhaps, but he was angry and God knew what Charles had done to the others in his “care.” Charles shrieked wild threats at him, slipping into a different language, one that Erik didn’t speak. Coldly, Erik warped the arms of the wheelchair, creating makeshift bindings to stop Charles hitting him, then removed his helmet and slammed it over Charles’s head.

“In case Hank’s serum wears off,” he said and then pushed Charles in front of him, making himself deaf to the raging. He had heard it all before, he was sure.

Mystique was still on the floor where he had left her. Erik crouched beside her, trying not to let his fear show. If he’d shocked her too hard … if she was dead …

But her pulse was strong and he sighed with relief, not caring that Charles could see him. Carefully, he gathered her up in his arms, then reached out and released everybody from their makeshift cages.

“Where’s your infirmary?” he asked the first child who emerged but the boy just stared at him, his expression bewildered. Erik tried not to glare. It wouldn’t help. A lot of these children were young and probably had no real idea of what had happened to them. At least Charles had gone silent so they didn’t have to listen to that ranting any longer. He looked around, trying to see someone who looked at least slightly in control of themselves.

“It’s this way!”

Storm looked a little sickly – she’d obviously used a lot of her power to try and stop him – but she was strong and still on her feet. He followed her and laid Mystique carefully on one of the beds. Charles, he simply parked by the door. Charles stared at him with dark, furious eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Storm said, her voice shaking very slightly. “Is she – ?”

“She will be fine. You did nothing wrong. Go to the other students, find out if any of them have injured themselves while fighting and bring them here. Kurt is hurt in one of the corridors, as is Hank – ”

“I’m fine.” Hank’s voice was quiet. He was standing at the door, a hand on his neck where Erik had hit him. His face was very pale but he was holding several more syringes of serum. “It should last twelve hours, give or take a bit. Your helmet was a good idea.”

“I do have them,” Erik said. Hank tried to smile at him but he looked queasy and miserable and kept sneaking little looks at Charles. Charles stared back and Erik saw him smile, very slightly. Even without powers, Charles was dangerous to them.

“Hank. Sedate him.”

Hank nodded his head and moved over to one of the locked cupboards. Charles gave a soft hiss.

“Hank … no. Please, darling. Listen to me. This is all wrong.”

“No,” Hank said and his voice only quavered a very little. “ _You’re_ all wrong, Charles. But we’ll fix you. I promise we’ll fix you. I promise that it’s going to be all right.”

Charles struggled, dragging at his restraints, trying to pull away. Hank held him still and injected him with steady hands. He stroked Charles’s cheek then, staring down at him as Charles’s eyes slowly closed. Erik watched and resolved quietly not to leave them alone together. Charles knew Hank too well, knew Hank’s weaknesses. Hank might think that he could stand against Charles but Erik didn’t want to risk it. He wasn’t even entirely sure he could risk himself.

But right then, there was something else that needed doing.

“Hank, where’s Jean?”

“Come with me,” Hank said immediately. “Jubilee, I want you to take control in here till I get back, okay?”

Erik didn’t know the young girl who was that Hank was trusting but she looked more awake than some of the other children around them. She lifted her chin and nodded her head and as Erik hurried after Hank, he could hear her giving orders. Good. They needed strong people in here.

Hank led him down into the basements. Erik found himself shivering. It was cold down here, cold and dark and bleak. 

“Tell me she had a blanket,” he said and Hank made a tiny noise of misery and opened a small door off the side.

In some ways, it wasn’t quite as bad as Erik had feared. Jean had a bed and the chains that tied her allowed some movement, if not much. But there was no light in the room and Erik knew that Charles and Hank had been utilising their considerable knowledge to torture Jean without leaving marks on her and it made him sick. He knew. He knew all too well.

“Jean?” he said quietly as Hank unfastened the restraints with trembling fingers. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered open. They were glassy and unfocused but she looked at Erik and then her lips curved in a smile.

“I knew you’d come,” she murmured. “I knew you’d come.”

“Yes,” Erik said quietly, lifting her in his arms. She was too light, she had lost weight. Her hair was lank and dirty and fell over his shoulder in snarls. Her hand came up to curl weakly in his shirt as he carefully carried her out.

He had come. And he had no idea what to do now.


	4. Jean

When Jean’s power returned to her, it was almost painful.

Suddenly there were voices everywhere; terrified clamouring voices that hurt her already-aching head. Mostly, it was the confused and unhappy students who didn’t really understand what had happened to them over the past two weeks but she could feel them further afield too, normal people who had no idea that their world might be creeping towards an end.

Erik sat with her as she cried and held her hand. He was good at keeping his mind quiet and calm, giving her something to focus on that wasn’t all the pain of the others – or the pain of her own.

He hadn’t asked her about the two weeks in the basement. Jean was glad. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to remember it. The dark and the cold and the thing that wasn’t Charles whispering to her, telling her everything would be all right if she would just give in to him …

She didn’t want to think about how close she’d come to just telling him that he could just take her. She didn’t want to think about any of it. She just wanted to get her powers back under control and quickly because she knew she was the only hope they had to get Charles back.

They were keeping him in one of the unused rooms. Erik had arranged a constant guard, always two on watch. Sometimes he weeded people out if he thought they might be susceptible to Charles’s coaxing words. Charles had not given up and even powerless, he was a danger – because Charles knew just how much they all loved him. Knew just how much they all wanted him to be okay and he would exploit that, if he could.

The only way that they would know he really was okay was when Jean could enter his mind.

And she was afraid.

She hadn’t told any of them that she was afraid. She didn’t dare. She was their only hope, how could she be afraid? She’d been strong enough to fight Apocalypse, she’d controlled her powers, she’d done so much. How could she let them down by being afraid now? 

It didn’t help that everyone around her was afraid too. Afraid and ashamed. Doctor McCoy could barely look at her and Scott was only a little better. Jean couldn’t help wondering if that was her fault. She’d said she didn’t blame them, she knew she _shouldn’t_ blame them ... but a part of her did. A part of her couldn’t forget what they had done to her. And she _had_ to forget if she was going to help them. She had to control herself.

But it was hard.

Moira McTaggert arrived three days after Doctor McCoy said that he thought Jean was well enough to be out of bed. She came with a cool, brisk efficiency that Jean found deeply reassuring, telling everyone what they ought to be doing, mind filled with practicalities about the aftermath of brainwashing. She talked to everyone, leaving minds vaguely more settled in her wake and Jean was glad that she was there, even before Moira came to her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jean shook her head and Moira nodded.

“I understand. But it’s better in the long run. Trauma like that is always best talked about, deconstructed. Things can get in your head and you mustn’t let them.”

“I don’t have time to fall apart,” Jean said. “I don’t have time to do anything except get myself better. We need to stop whatever is happening to Charles.”

“But are you ready for that? Are you ready to go into his head? Are you ready for what you might find in there?”

Moira’s mind was all straight lines and grim practicality. Nobody had been able to explain to her what was wrong with Charles and she was assuming the worst – that Charles was somehow broken and could not be fixed. That Charles might have to go to prison – that Charles might have to die. She had pushed the pain of that right to the back of her soul but it was there, throbbing wretchedly. That Charles, who she had only just found again, would be taken from her. That they would all lose someone who mattered to them.

Or worse, that Charles would defeat them and that they wouldn’t care that they had lost someone who mattered to them.

“I don’t know,” Jean said, honestly. “I’ve been in his mind before, I can get in there easily. But I don’t … I don’t know if I can defeat what’s there until I _see_ what’s there. But I can do … I can do what what’s necessary. We’re not going to lose him.”

“Hasn’t that already happened?”

She knew that Moira was challenging her, trying to see how she would react. Jean lifted her chin, suddenly proud.

“No. I’m going to find him. _We’re_ going to find him. I know it isn’t him, Moira. I could feel that when he came for me. There’s something else there and we _can_ defeat it – if we work together.”

Moira smiled.

“All right then. What do you want me to do? What do you want _us_ to do?”

Jean took a deep breath. No more hiding.

“I’m going to need help,” she said. “I’m going to need help from everybody.”

There was a lot of discussion before she could go ahead with her idea. Moira didn’t seem to really think it would work, however supportive she was. Erik was a little more confident but at the back of his mind was a steady pulse of fear: _everything I love is taken from me, I love Charles and this is how he will be taken._ Jean knew there was no point in challenging that. That was something that was simply inside Erik and perhaps Charles could help him with it, perhaps not – but she certainly couldn’t, not now. She just looked at him and told them firmly that she believed that she could do what she said and that she needed them to believe in her back.

The biggest problem was that for Jean to reach the parts of Charles that she believed still existed, they were going to have to let Charles’s powers return. And that meant that if Jean _did_ fail, there would be nothing any of them could do. Neither Erik nor Moira liked the idea of them being so vulnerable but Jean knew there was no other choice. Charles _had_ to have his powers, that was all there was to it.

In the end, Mystique quietly suggested that Peter should have the helmet and take it away. He was quick enough that if he were wearing it, he could almost sneak up on the Professor and kill him if he had to.

Hank became so angry when she said this that they had to end the meeting. Jean understood his rage. Hank couldn’t bear the idea of living in a world where Charles wasn’t. Charles had been a part of his universe for so long that a part of him would be broken if Charles no longer existed. Even when she was on the other side of the mansion, Jean could feel his terror and pain.

Erik’s terror and pain was similar but more tempered. He could imagine a world without Charles, had done so because everything was always lost. It hurt him and yet he could push it aside and work with it. Mystique’s feelings were similar but there was a core of steel to her. She would rather Charles was properly dead than a creature that took the minds of everyone that he was supposed to love. Moira felt the same; better dead than a monster. And both of them believed that Charles would feel the same.

Jean found that reassuring. She could take strength from their strength, courage from their courage. She needed them, all of them. Tomorrow, together, they would win.

And yet, when she slept that night, she dreamed of the dark and of Charles whispering to her in the dark; _Jean, love, why are you fighting me? We could be so strong together, Jean. Don’t you see that? Just let me in, trust me and we will be Gods together, you and I …_

She woke up feeling like there were ashes in her mouth.

Nobody looked very happy at the breakfast table. Perhaps they had all slept as badly as she had. Jean tried to block out their fears and doubts. She didn’t need to hear them. She didn’t _want_ to hear them. 

“I didn’t give him any serum last night,” Hank said quietly. “The helmet is on and he’s restrained again. It should be wearing off about now.”

“Easy to check, with Charles,” Mystique said, her voice equally quiet.

Yes, it was. That was a blessing at least. They didn’t have to remove the helmet until they were absolutely certain that Charles’s legs were no longer working.

They didn’t all come into the room with her. It might make it too obvious and none of them wanted to give Charles any more time to prepare himself for what was to come. Jean walked in, followed by Hank. Charles was lying on his bed and he lifted his head and smiled.

“My Hank. And Jean, my dear. It’s been a while. I didn’t expect you to want to visit me.”

“You should have done,” she said and her voice was calm. “You should have known I wouldn’t leave you alone forever.”

“I didn’t dare hope, sweetheart. I have been growing so lonely without my powers – but you know how that feels, don’t you?”

Jean didn’t respond to the barb. She sat down and looked at Hank, who nodded at her and went to check Charles’s reflexes. Charles didn’t even look at him. He continued to stare at Jean, his eyes dark and … hungry.

“I’ve missed talking to you, Jean. Are you going to listen to me?”

“No,” she said. “I know you aren’t Charles so there isn’t anything that I am interested in listening to.”

“But I _am_ Charles, sweet. This is me, this is who I am.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t believe that. I won’t accept that.”

“And what will you do when you find out that it’s true? Kill me? Will you let her do that to me, Hank?”

Hank twitched, very slightly. Charles’s smile became almost predatory.

“She’s talked about it then. Or someone has. Who else is here, Hank? Who else is talking about me like I’m a lamb for slaughter?”

“He’s ready,” Hank whispered and sat down beside her. Jean squeezed his hand.

_We’re going to save him, Doctor McCoy. You have to believe in me. You have to trust me._

“What are you doing?” Charles asked and his voice was a little sharper now. “What are you about to do to me?”

Jean closed her eyes and threw out her power to Peter. She could feel him moving, faster than anything she could do but if she was in his mind – 

She knew the exact second that he had removed the helmet from Charles’s head. In that exactly second, she _leaped_

For a terrifying few seconds, she was alone in the dark. Alone and the dark was pressing on her and Charles was whispering _Jean, Jean, you can’t escape me, just give in, my child, why are you fighting me, Jean …_

Then she felt hands on her and heard Erik say “We’re here.” and she was able to open her eyes and see that they were inside a corridor.

Of course, they weren’t inside anything real. It was a mental landscape, created by her and Charles together. The walls swirled with faint clouds, doors shifted and moved as they did. The others pressed close, all uneasy. Jean could hear their thoughts even more clearly in this mental world; their fear, their attempts to conceal it, their hope and dread and doom. She pushed it all aside and walked forward down the corridor, aware that she was glimmering with red-gold flames, lighting the way. Her fear was fading now. This was her power and she knew it better than anything else.

The room at the end of the corridor was almost pitch-black. Charles was there, she knew he was. She could see him, even in the dark.

“Hello Jean. Welcome to my house.”

“You’re not Charles,” she said simply.

“But I am. Look at me.”

“No,” she said and opened her arms. Flames split from her, flickering over the floor, up through the walls. The room was suddenly illuminated.

Charles still stood there. But now, she could see the silken threads that bound him, that dug into his skin. That controlled his every move.

And behind him, stood En Sabah Nur. 

Apocalypse.

She wasn’t surprised. She felt that she should have seen it before, should have known from the start. Should have understood the moment Hank said he could see someone else’s eyes behind Charles’s.

“When you died, you clung to his mind like a tick,” she said quietly. “Even Charles didn’t know you were there.”

Apocalypse gave a soft laugh.

“I was a seed in his mind,” he said. “A seed that he fed and watered until I could grow anew.”

As he spoke, Charles spoke too, lips moving in perfect unison. His eyes were open but unseeing. He even moved his hand as Apocalypse did, a perfect, graceful puppet.

“Not on purpose!” Hank’s voice was a snarl. He made to move forwards and Jean lifted her arm to stop him. That was not how they would win, here.

“No? You think not? You think I could have grown so big, so _myself_ without his approval, his permission?”

“Yes,” Erik’s voice was quieter. “Yes, I do. As Jean said, you’re a tick. You knew just where to burrow, didn’t you? Just where to put yourself so that it all felt almost right until it was too late for Charles to slip free.”

Apocalypse smiled but did not answer. He reached out and stroked a hand down Charles’s cheek. Charles didn’t even stir. Was he dead? Did his mind still reside inside that shell? She hoped he did. She really hoped.

“He and I are linked now,” Apocalypse murmured. “He resisted so very little, in the end. A better world for his children? It is all he ever wanted. He simply needed to be … helped.”

“Not like this,” Jean said. “Charles. Professor. Wake up. This isn’t what should be happening.”

“He cannot wake up. There is nothing to wake up, Jean. We are together now, him and I. His body, my mind. You are all fighting shadows. Why waste your energy? Everything will be well.”

“No,” Jean said. She closed her eyes and let her power begin to grow and flare. She heard Apocalypse hiss and felt something black and powerful lash out at her. She braced herself for it, let the fire burn protectively around her.

“Charles. You have to come back to us. You have to fight! Please, please listen to me.”

“Listen to _you?_ ” Apocalypse’s voice was a furious hiss. “You think we trust you, child? Let me show you what you are, what Charles knows you are!”

The memory was all around them, clear, distinct. The knowledge of it too; Charles looking into Logan’s mind, looking at _his_ past and Charles’s future, their future. A tall woman with tumbling red hair, beautiful and filled with power and the world around her was filled with death, death that she had caused and it was _her_ , that woman was _her_ , what she would grow up to be, a murderer, not in control of her power – 

_Don’t show her that!_

The voice was faint, almost non-existent but it was horrified and it reminded Jean of what she was supposed to be doing. She increased her focus, ignoring everything except her own fire. She could feel it burning around them, feel the others trying not to fear it. It was easy to shield them from it. Easy to protect them from her own power. And that voice that she had heard …

Apocalypse had miscalculated. He had grown in the Professor’s mind, leeched his strength and power until Charles himself could not fight. But he had never bothered to understand Charles’s thoughts. Never bothered to look beyond the surface of the memories that Charles carried within him, never examined what made Charles _himself._

“Professor,” she whispered out-loud. “Professor, come back to us. He’s hurting us, Professor.”

“Charles,” Hank spoke up, his voice trembling but loud and clear. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t ever abandon me again.”

Jean felt memories stir sluggishly around them, flickers of Charles and Hank together, the terrible days when Charles had lost all hope and Hank was his only friend, his only companion. She threw her fire at them, encouraged them into greater prominence. Apocalypse tried to dampen then, smooth them away with darkness but behind that, she could feel another presence now, a power slowly waking …

“Charles,” Moira said quietly. “When you gave me my memories back, you said things would be different. That you wouldn’t ever do anything like that again? Did you lie to me?”

Memories of Moira bubbled up, not blocking out the thoughts of Hank, simply joining them in a tapestry that was beginning to weave itself around them on a loom of fire.

“You promised you’d never get in my head, Charles,” Raven said. “You promised when I came home that everything would be different.”

“You promised I’d never be alone.” Erik sounded lost in here, lacking so much of the emotional armour he usually had when you could only see his naked mind. “Why did you leave me?”

_I didn’t … I never would …_

The puppet-Charles blinked, focus coming back into his eyes as he saw them all. Apocalypse snarled and Jean saw black strands curling themselves around Charles, trying to pierce his mind, his heart. Charles struggled and moaned and the tapestry of memories wavered for a moment.

_No!_ Jean screamed at it and threw her arms out wide, reaching out for every mind she could, a plea for help that couldn’t be denied.

_Professor?_

_Professor, why did you leave us?_

_Professor, come back, please, we miss you! I’m trying to stay strong but I can’t, not forever, I need you!_

_We’ve been so scared, I hurt Jean, I hurt her, why did you let me do that, please, come back and help me make it right …_

She ached at Scott’s misery. Ached at the cries from the other students, their fear, their loss, their uncertainly. And she felt Charles ache too, heard his bewildered sob, felt his power begin to shift as he tried to reach out and comfort the people around him that hurt. The people that he didn’t want to hurt.

Apocalypse made a sound almost like a shriek. Jean felt the dark press of his power increase, trying to drive her down, trying to drive them all out, trying to fling them away. She heard Hank cry out in pain somewhere close by, heard Moira swearing, heard Erik gasp. She didn’t try to protect them. She left them exposed, left them hurting and she felt Charles’s power surge as he reached out for them.

_Leave them alone! No more! **No more!**_

Charles’s power wasn’t fire. It was water, splashing over them, soaking them with his own protection. Apocalypse screamed, the sound shattering their ears. Jean could see him standing there, strong and powerful as he had been once before.

She had defeated him then too.

And she was stronger now.

_Go_ she told Apocalypse silently and she reached out for the black, twisted roots that she knew still curled in Charles’s soul. Charles was already there, weakening them, chipping at them and she threw fire in, burning, blazing.

_You’ll kill him too!_ Apocalypse hissed. _Is that what you want?_

Jean ignored that. She ignored everything except for burning those roots away, melting them to nothing. 

_Never again_ she whispered. _Never!_

She burned and she burned until her fire was flickering, exhausted. She couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he might come back, he might return again and again forever and she wouldn’t let it happen, she wouldn’t let anybody be hurt, she wouldn’t, not ever, not ever …

_Jean_.

The whisper was soft, gentle. Familiar.

_Jean. You can stop._

Stop?

_He’s dead, Jean. Don’t follow him. Come back, now. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling. Please come back to us._

“Jean!”

Another voice, one she knew and trusted. A physical voice, not something whispered in the mind. She frowned, followed it. 

“Jean, wake up! Jean!”

She opened her eyes. Scott was kneeling over her, lips trembling, cradling her head in his lap.

“Oh, _Jean!_ ”

She smiled at him hazily, struggling to sit up as she did. She could see the others, all attempting to get up too. And sitting up on the bed, eyes bleak, was Charles.

“Professor?” she whispered through dry lips.

“Hello Jean,” he said quietly and Jean knew that he was himself again.


	5. Charles

Charles had a headache.

It wasn’t very surprising, given how deeply Jean had dug into his mind. It wasn’t very surprising, given how little he’d been _using_ his own mind for quite a long time.

And it wasn’t surprising given the pressure of shame that was on his shoulders like a physical weight.

Why hadn’t he realised? Why hadn’t he thought? Why hadn’t he stopped it?

He knew the answer. Because he hadn’t thought to look. He’d been so confident that nobody could ever invade his mind without him seeing it. It had never occurred to him that a shred of Apocalypse might have lived on, curled in his head. It had never occurred to him to shield from the _inside_.

And his friends had paid for his folly.

They had all forgiven him, of course. They were good people, they were like that. But the confusion, the doubt, the sadness all lingered on inside them. They couldn’t quite believe what had happened and Charles couldn’t blame them. He’d forced them to do things, terrible things and he could only be glad that he hadn’t had time to force them to do worse.

What he had done was bad enough.

He spoke to every student personally, apologising to them for what had happened, asking what they wanted to do now. He wouldn’t have blamed a single one of them for wanting to leave but to his slight surprise, they all stayed. Some didn’t really understand why he was so upset. Others did, but believed in him. Believed in his apology, believed that everything would be all right now.

Charles hoped that he would prove worthy of that belief.

He saved all the people he was most afraid to speak to until last.

First, he spoke to Moira. It was fairly easy to talk to her really. He had hurt her feelings but he hadn’t done anything actively dreadful to her. She told him that she understood. But he could feel her sadness there too. Her uncertainty. Every time she was around Charles, terrible things seemed to happen and even she wasn’t quite sure that she was ready for more. It wasn’t her safety that she worried about, but her son’s and Charles could hardly blame her. He wanted to promise that this time would be different, that this time, he wouldn’t make any mistakes but he knew better than to make a promise like that. He knew better than to agree to things that might not be true.

Then he spoke to Erik. Erik, who had come back and saved his students before anybody else, who had been incredible. He told Erik that he was proud and Erik waved away his thanks with a casual outward dismissal, belayed by his mind which silently begged Charles never to hurt him that way again. Poor Erik had been through so much. Charles hated that he had added pain onto that. He knew better than to say any of it aloud though. Erik would only get annoyed. 

Raven was surprisingly forgiving. Perhaps because she understood what it was like to fall, even a little way. Perhaps because somewhere inside her, she’d always faintly wondered if this would happen to him. Or perhaps simply because she was his sister and she loved him no matter what he did.

Hank was in pain. He tried to talk to Charles normally but he went from calmness to ranting furiously, almost hating, furious that Charles had hurt him, stolen his mind and made him a puppet, that Charles had betrayed him. Charles withstood the storm quietly, his head bowed and when it was over and Hank was crying, he pulled his friend into his arms and stroked his hair, filling Hank’s mind with the inadequate apologies that he knew could never really be enough and yet, for Hank, would mean something. It would be a long time before their relationship was back to what it was and yet Charles knew that they would find their way. He and Hank always did, somehow.

Jean, he saved till last of all. She came into the room and regarded him with quiet eyes. Charles didn’t try to speak out loud. He simply opened his mind and invited her in.

The landscape he found himself in was not one that he had created. It seemed to be a field of grass and flowers, pretty. He was standing and could feel hair on his head again, down his neck the way it had been the last time he had had hair.

“Do you always see yourself like that?” Jean’s voice was quiet.

“How we see ourselves is very rarely how we appear to others,” he said, turning to look at her. She looked very like how her physical self did, although not identical. It was hard to put a finger on what was different, just that there _was_ a difference. Something subtle.

“I suppose not. But you look very, very different,” she said.

“I do. I don’t know why. I’ve come to terms with who I am and yet when I come here, it’s always the same.”

He wondered why they were having this conversation. Surely they should be talking about what he had done. He ought to be apologising for the inexcusable, trying to make up for allowing his body (and a part of his mind) to torture and torment Jean in ways that he did not like to remember and yet knew that he would never, ever forget. In ways that _she_ would never, ever forget.

“The memory,” Jean said softly, bringing him back from his own thoughts.

“Ah, that. Logan showed it to me when he came back to change time. It’s a future that will never happen, _can_ never happened. I couldn’t decide if I should tell you or not. You’ll never become that woman. You’ll always be yourself. It doesn’t mean you’re safe, that you’ll never run the risk of temptation of power but that event will never happen in that way.”

He looked at her. Jean nodded her head slightly. Was she satisfied with that? It was hard to tell but Charles hoped that she was. He didn’t want to ask. If Jean wanted to tell him, she would tell him.

“Jean,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. You know that, of course. But I am sorry. And there is something that I need from you, something … because I trust you. I’m going to leave my mind open to you, now. I want you to create yourself a little backdoor. A way in that I will not know about. That I won’t look for because you’re going to erase my memory of this idea, this part of the conversation. And if anything ever happens to me again, you can get into my mind and stop me.”

Jean was staring at him, shock radiating out of her. Charles just continued to stare, letting her process his words.

“I can’t … you can’t … ” Jean whispered at last. 

“I trust Hank and Erik with my life. I trust Raven and Moira with my life. I trust you with my life and my mind, Jean. I know you would never, ever use this unless the need was great. I believe in you. I trust you. And I never want to hurt you again.”

Jean stared at him for a long moment. Charles stared back. It was dangerous, what he was doing. Crazy, perhaps. Letting someone else in your mind, giving them an all-access pass … look what had just happened to him. The disaster that had wrought.

“I trust you,” he said again, reaching out and touching Jean’s face, pushing strands of her hair behind her ear. “Perhaps one day, you’ll feel comfortable closing the door between us. Perhaps not. But it will always be there and you will always be safe.”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, then let their mental world fade. Jean sat in front of him, eyes closed, hair stirring very slightly in a breeze that didn’t exist. Charles didn’t try to disturb her. He closed his own eyes and let his mind drift open, focusing on everything and nothing. He found the minds of everyone in his school; their confusions and uncertainties, their hopes, their joys. Hank was in his lab, relaxing with a new experiment. Raven was in the Danger Room, preparing it for a practise run. Moira was talking with some of the students, introducing them to CIA techniques to help deal with trauma. Erik was on the roof, watching the clouds, wondering if this time, he ought to stay, just for a little while. Although he didn’t know it, Peter was close by, watching him hopefully, trying to decide if this was the right time to tell Erik that they were father and son.

Charles’s people. 

His family.

 _I love you_ he told them silently. _I’m sorry_.

They didn’t answer, of course. But he could feel their returned love, their closeness to him. They would forgive his stupidity in time, they would forgive his mistakes. 

The love that grew between them all was stronger than anything else could ever be.


End file.
